


The Harold Song

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, mostly introspective, no one is really happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And this is so hard 'cause I didn't see that you were the love of my life and it kills me.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Harold Song

**Author's Note:**

> _They say that true love hurts, well this could almost kill me-_   
>  _Young love murder, that is what this must be._   
>  _I would give it all to not be sleeping alone._   
>  _Alone._
> 
> \- "The Harold Song", Ke$ha

Jason would always miss Bruce.

He missed him in that strange in-between state after his resurrection, between living and _not_. He’d missed him even if he couldn’t name the man who didn’t have a face, couldn’t name the feelings, even. He’s missed him, when he was locked inside his own cold body, with no one and nothing. No light. No sound.

But the feeling, it had existed.

He used to miss Bruce, when Jason was a child. When they patrolled separately- when Jason was confined to the house. If he couldn’t _see_ Bruce, he had missed him, however silently he expressed it.

He even missed Bruce now, on nights like this where the man, _the Batman_ , the one who had plucked him from crime alley and stolen his life- he missed him now, even pressed down into his expensive sheets. Even when Bruce’s mouth was on his, desperate kisses- always desperate, as if Jason would disappear again, as if he could fade into mist, into nothing.

He missed him, even then.

Jason tipped his head back, Bruce’s mouth on his neck, as he clutched at his shoulders. How it had come to this, he would never know. How he had ever found a way into the bed that was the thing of his teenage dreams, he didn’t understand. But Jason had dreamed of it, for so long. It’s beginning was just as confusing as it’s continuation- Jason never knew how he ended up on his back, clutching at Bruce, melting into nothing at all.

Some nights, he just showed up at the Manor, and that was enough. But he never consciously thought of it- he was always subconsciously moving towards Bruce, until he was on his bike, until he was letting himself in. Some nights, he wasn’t aware of himself until Bruce’s mouth was on his, until his back was shoved up against the door to the man’s bedroom, his shoulders digging back with aching force.

Jason arched his back, Bruce having moved down his body now, kissing at one thigh. His mouth covered old scars, his stubble dragging along skin, causing Jason to shiver.

What he felt, it could have killed him. Could have ended up again. If he was honest, what he felt when he was still _Robin_ could have done him in. How everything was Bruce, Bruce, _Bruce_. How he just wanted the man’s damn approval. His attention. Those gorgeous eyes on him.

The desires for hands, for his mouth, it came later. It had taken Jason’s death to fulfill the want, had taken him being completely pulled from Bruce to get the man to break.

The first kiss had been Jason. And it had been _angry_. Fire and fury and Jason grabbing at Bruce’s face, his cowl shoved back, despite the fact that they were still in _Gotham_ , that is was dangerous.

He had expected Bruce’s fist. He expected the physical manifestation of all the unrequited desires of his youth, of his death, his rebirth. He expected rejection, and he was ready to embrace it with _hate_.

But Bruce had grabbed his jacket, had pulled him in closer, had kissed Jason like it was something he had thought of every night for countless years. And Jason- he had trembled, he had lost himself then, fingers in Bruce’s hair, letting the older man turn him, press him against a wall. Always a wall, always something to be shoved up against.

They had to be trapped. Jason wasn’t sure if this were possible, without walls. Without something to both force them together, and allow them to be kept perpetually apart. What would it be like, to love Bruce so freely? That the man could walk away, that Jason could walk away- and yet, they chose not to. What if there was no separation between the two of them?

Jason gasped, Bruce’s stubble against his belly, his mouth kissed muscle, another scar. First kiss to laying on his back for the man, it seemed like a journey that should have taken weeks, months, lifetimes.

All it took was Jason’s death.

Bruce had a habit of saying Jason’s name, but only when he crossed a threshold that meant they were not going to stop. Only when he was pushing into his body, hands braced on either side of Jason’s head, staring down into his eyes. Before that, his name was a _curse_. Something vile. A haunting memory.

When Jason was arching up against him, raking his nails down his spine, his name was a _prayer_.

Jason would be lying if he claimed it didn’t feel _good_ , what Bruce did to his body. A wicked lie he could never make sound convincing. He assumed Bruce felt it too, even if they never discussed this, outside of the bedroom.

On the Gotham streets, it was as if their coupling never happened.

On the nights when Jason was alone- too many, if he was honest- in the dark of his apartment, one of his many Gotham safe houses- and god, why did he need so many? Why did he constantly come back to this city and its nightmares?- it felt as if Bruce _never_ touched him. As if that mouth was a dream, was a curse, was a thing of childhood wanting and adulthood disappointment. It was nothing, and _god it was everything_.

When the lights went out, Jason couldn’t handle the dark. He wanted Bruce around him, wanted to be small again, to fit in his arms. Wished he had crawled into his bed as a child, had been able to be surrounded by his heat. Night thoughts that he could never admit to anyone, but himself.

And even then, he didn’t want to hear them.

But god, if Jason could go back- would he? He wondered, constantly, on those nights when there was nothing but shadows to occupy him. Go back to a world before his death, when he was so small, when he didn’t have this strange power over Bruce. Before he had ever taken up residency in the man’s head as his personal ghost. Jason’s idealized past was beautiful, the years spent with Bruce, traveling the world without ever leaving Gotham- that’s what it felt like.

There was an entire world in Bruce’s eyes alone. Jason wanted to die again when he looked into them, even now.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, as he was pressed face down into the pillows, the bed. Bruce blanketed him, huffed his breaths in his hear, gasped out _Jason_ over and over and over again. Said his name, as if it could make Jason real. As if it could fix everything, the years lost, the pain, the need that went so long unfulfilled.

It didn’t fix anything. Jason knew, even if he told himself in those moments it _did_. Nothing was better. He still _died_. He was still lost. He was still a phantom, now.

No, nothing could ever fix what had happened between them. What _hadn’t_ happened.

And Jason knew how the night would end, how it always ended. Bruce’s arms around him, so tempting, the sweetest lie he could ever tell himself. How he wanted to press his face to his chest, to memorize the gentle _thumps_ of his heart against his ribs. How Jason wanted to drift there, to sleep peacefully for once, without nightmares.

The dark was teeming with them. Endless claws to clutch onto his sleeping mind, if there was no light.

He seemed to think Bruce being there would scare them away.

But Jason wouldn’t get to that point. He’d press into the pillows, before silently getting up, getting dressed. Most nights, he’d leave without a word- some nights there was the false pretense that he would come back inside.

It was a lie.

He’d smoke a cigarette and stare up at the sky over the Manor, the same one he used to stare at from his bedroom window. The same one he’d pointed to as a child, finger arcing around the shapes of constellations. And Bruce had ruffled his hair and said he was _impressed_ that he could find so many.

Jason would never stay the night. When the cigarette was nothing but smoke and ash, he’d get on his bike, he’d drive back into the city, to an empty room and his nightmares. It was young love murder every night, the way his heart clenched up. But he couldn’t stay with Bruce.

It was even more terrifying to think of what might happen, come the light of dawn. That maybe he would cease to exist completely, that he really was just a ghost in Bruce’s head. If they found an end to his turmoil, if they let themselves have any true peace- maybe Jason would finally fade to ash and dust.

So, he missed Bruce. He missed him even when his mouth was on his, the stubble of his cheek against Jason’s palm. He missed Bruce, even when he should have been happy that he was there at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This song just screams Jason and Bruce to me, and I wanted to write something that was a bit more introspective, dealing with Jason and his feelings briefly. Really, just listen to the song. This was a rather enjoyable experiment.


End file.
